


A Wish and a Command

by severinne



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Christmas, Dirty Talk, First Time, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-28 05:45:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severinne/pseuds/severinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The spell breaks on Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wish and a Command

**Author's Note:**

  * For [basaltgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/basaltgrrl/gifts).



> Written for the Life on Mars Armed Bastards Holiday Exchange to a prompt for "unexpected Christmas smut" provided by basaltgrrl.

Nothing topped the worst Christmas Eve ever quite like not being able to slam one’s own bloody door shut.

Gene scowled as the hand that had caught his door grew a leather-clad arm, a shoulder, then a whole body that insinuated itself into his home. Choking back a first and second violent impulse, Gene held his tongue until the door was shut again, secluding them safely away from public sight in the darkness of his stairwell.

‘You don’t waste time,’ he scowled. ‘Have you been clinging to the rear end of my car since I left the pub?’

‘Got a lift from Annie.’

‘Annie.’ Gene sniffed, shrugged off his coat and threw it past Sam’s imposing presence, lips tightening as it slapped feebly against the banister and crumpled to the floor.

‘Yeah, I… hold up, where you going?’ Footsteps raced in his wake as Gene turned heel and strode through his front parlour, sidestepping week-old newspapers and take-away cartons and the dusty remnants of a dining room on his way to the kitchen beyond.

‘Figure it out, Inspector.’ Swinging open a cupboard, Gene scanned the several near-depleted bottles remaining, each with a mere drink or two left at their hazy bottoms. Gene chose the one closest to hand and slammed it down hard on the sticky counter.

‘Haven’t you had enough to drink tonight?’ The tone of Sam’s question was even more grating than usual, laced through with a bite of sarcasm. ‘Isn’t that why you left the party so early?’

Gene drew a hard breath through his nose, hand tightening around the neck of his bottle. ‘You know better than that,’ he muttered, scanning the counter for a clean glass.

‘I know we were having a good time until you got all stroppy and stormed off.’

‘I was having a good time until Chris heaved up all over the floor.’ At least, it had given Gene the excuse he had needed. ‘Reckoned I’d leave you to get the lad tidied up and tucked into his bed.’

‘Annie’s taken care of him.’ Sam drew up alongside him at the counter and dropped two clean tumblers into Gene’s line of sight. He blinked down at the paired glasses, shared out the dregs of his bottle between them well before he had decided on their meaning. ‘That’s how I got here so fast, got a lift with her.’

‘You, Cartwright and Skelton?’ That was an image that didn’t bear thinking on.

‘Well, just the two of them now. Annie’s taken Chris back to hers to sleep it off.’

Gene swished his scotch around the inside of his mouth, trying to wash out the bad taste of jealousy souring his tongue. ‘Doesn’t that bother you?’

‘Why should it?’ Sam glared over the edge of his drink, a pointed hot poker of a stare with plenty of smolder to spare. ‘In case you didn’t notice, my attention was elsewhere.’

‘Pretty sure half the ruddy pub would’ve noticed the way you were carrying on.’

Gene winced at the sharp edge of his own voice, knew he was rumbled when Sam straightened to his full height, jaw tilted defiantly upward to reveal the full length of his throat.

‘Is that the problem?’ he asked softly, a touch dangerously. Sam had that look about him that demanded an equal response so Gene set his drink aside and turned to face him, drawing close enough to tower over his deputy.

‘Is _what_ the problem?’ Gene bit off the words like a warning more than a question. This was feeling familiar again, something he could cope with – at least, until Sam destroyed the distance between them and pressed his mouth firmly to Gene’s stunned lips.

By no means was this a kiss for the ages – it was altogether too chaste, and somehow more demanding in its pressure and heat than the kiss of any bird Gene had ever known. Sam withdrew almost as quickly as he had attacked, almost as though it had never happened, and yet it was all Gene could do to keep his knees from buckling.

Sam smiled – not even a smirk, but a boyish flash of honest amusement that let loose that indescribable light lurking inside him, a glimpse of all things good that drove a spike clean through Gene’s chest. ‘That didn’t feel like a problem,’ he reasoned, too damned coy for a man who had just shattered the remains of Gene’s peace of mind. ‘Might’ve been a problem if I’d done it in the pub, maybe, only I did nothing of the sort.’

‘You as good as,’ Gene snapped.

‘We were _talking_.’

‘You were coming on harder than a rentboy pulling the last man on earth…’ His tongue darted over his dry lips, entirely out of nervousness though Gene wondered if his mouth did taste different now with Sam’s trace there. ‘May as well have waggled that bloody mistletoe over our heads for all to see, way you were carrying on.’

‘I’ve tried the subtle approach… for _months_ ,’ Sam added sharply when Gene snorted in disbelief. ‘Bloody months of this bullshit, waiting for you to do something about it…’

‘Might be I’m not interested, you great bloody poof.’

This time, Sam smirked. ‘If you’re not interested, why am I still standing here with all my teeth intact?’ He flashed those teeth, bright as heartache, as he dared another step closer. ‘If you were so worried about people seeing us at the pub,’ he continued, low and silken, ‘you should’ve offered to drive me home. Dragged and shoved me out the door by force if you thought it’d save your reputation… not like we both don’t enjoy that, now is it?’

Gene swallowed tightly. Oh god, Sam knew, he _knew_ …

A hand slid down his arm and the fire building in his blood lashed out the best way Gene knew how. He flung away Sam’s touch, aimed a shove at his shoulder, grunted at the fist that landed square in his gut. Their rhythm was off, Sam was charging forward under some new momentum and it was all Gene could do to land a few blows for the sake of his faltering pride before his knees hit the linoleum and a wiry flurry of limbs bore him the rest of the way down to the floor. The breath burst from his lungs as Gene landed hard on his back, and his first gasp inward bore the musk of Sam’s leather coat, of Sam’s girly red wine, of _Sam._

‘I’d have followed,’ Sam breathed back softly, his lips mere inches away from Gene’s. ‘If you’d dragged me off, I’d have followed you, all the way back here, or to mine… wherever you preferred. Could’ve been you holding me down right now if you’d had the balls to just do it already…’

Instead, it was Sam who clearly had the advantage, even if Gene knew he could fight off those hands pinning his arms, squirm out from beneath the tangle of Sam’s thighs amongst his own, if only… if only…

Sam shifted his weight and Gene groaned, ragged and embarrassingly loud, at the rough chafing of another erection sliding against his own. Layers of clothing rasped and whispered between the dual evidence of eager flesh, both frustrating and inflaming Gene’s arousal. ‘I’d have had you,’ he hissed out between clenched teeth. ‘Easy, eager tart that you are… could’ve had you on your back whenever I wanted…’

‘Is that right?’ Sam released a breathless little sound, part chuckle and part moan. ‘You wouldn’t know what to do with me if you did…’ He rolled his hips, grinding with an explicit intent that did plenty to fuel Gene’s imagination and his tongue.

‘I’d know enough to shut that smarmy gob of yours,’ he growled back. ‘Shove my fingers in that pretty mouth, make sure you get them nice and wet for what I have in mind…’ Sam bucked harder against him with a choked whine. ‘Might let you have a taste of my cock if you do a good job,’ he added, flexing his hips into the pressure of Sam’s thrusts.

‘You’d be _begging_ me to suck you off,’ Sam panted, eyes glinting narrowly in the darkened room. ‘Down on your knees… I’d make you show me how you like it…’

‘I’d show you all right.’ Need coiled hot down Gene’s spine, making his thighs shake; his hands clawed futilely at the floor, desperate to touch. ‘I’d stroke, lick, suck every greedy inch of you…’ With a low moan, Sam pressed his face to Gene’s shoulder, breathing hot over his neck, so close… ‘Force you right to the edge… but I wouldn’t let you come, not yet.’

‘Oh, fuck…’ Sam was shuddering tight against him now, rutting frantically against his thigh, leaving fingertip bruises where they still bit down into Gene’s arms. ‘Gene…’

‘I’d keep you just like that,’ he rasped, low and urgent, ‘keep you like _this_ , hot and desperate and gorgeous until I’ve had everything I want of you, until… until…’

No words in the world would have stopped Sam’s orgasm, a wrenchingly wondrous thing that Gene could feel pulsing against his thigh and along the full length of their joined bodies, but it was the harsh, possessive bite of teeth, so unexpected in the soft flesh of his shoulder, that pushed Gene over the edge after him. Orgasm shook through him, drew him upward into a body gone lax with its own pleasure that finally yielded when Gene instinctively raised an arm to draw him closer through the aftershocks.

After that, it was all softly heaving breaths, damp spreading fast through clinging layers of clothing. And then a quiet voice brushed past his ear.

‘Until when?’

‘Hmn?’

‘Until when?’ Sam repeated, clear and cool as a sphinx. ‘When will you have had everything you want?’

Trapped between the pressure of Sam’s body and the kitchen floor, Gene squirmed uncomfortably as he recalled his earlier words, eyes flickering rapidly about his worm’s eye view of his kitchen. ‘Restocking my booze would be a start,’ he noted, squinting at the open cabinet door.

‘Gene.’

If anything, it was the familiar warning impatience of Sam’s tone that decided the matter for him. ‘Bed,’ he said decisively. ‘Everything I want right now is my bed under me instead of this bloody hard floor… and _this_ to keep me warm.’ His free hand found and patted Sam’s arse, then squeezed in newfound appreciation of the fact that he _could_ squeeze said arse now with perfect impunity.

‘Is that really all?’ Sam asked, and now Gene could hear the smile in his voice as well as the endearing frowns.

‘It’ll be Christmas morning after that, Sammy-boy,’ he pointed out cheerfully. ‘Plenty of time to lavish me with more pressies in the morning.’


End file.
